


red hot

by thunderylee



Category: Kanjani8 (Band), Kis-My-Ft2 (Band)
Genre: Canon Universe, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-11
Updated: 2012-12-11
Packaged: 2019-01-18 06:30:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12382776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Ohkura dyes his hair red.





	red hot

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck.

“Whoa,” Miyata says as he passes Ohkura at the vending machine. “Your hair!”

“Is red,” Ohkuta finishes for him, trying not to look too smug. He’s really loving all of the attention he’s getting due to the new color. “Hot, right?”

“Nika, Nika,” Miyata rushes to call out for the other Kisumai member who’s staring longingly at the Bakaleya movie poster on the wall. “Look at Ohkura-senpai’s new hair!”

It takes a lot to pry Nikaido’s eyes away from AKB, but when Miyata finally does, Ohkura’s on the receiving end of the smarmiest look he’s seen outside of his own group. “Oh, man, Mitsu’s going to lose his shit when he sees this.”

“Hiromitsu?” Ohkura asks, like there are any other Mitsus they both know. “Why would he?’

Nikaido blinks. “Everyone knows he has a thing for redheads.”

“Tama-chan stays dark because of him,” Miyata inputs.

“Really.” Ohkura thinks of his longtime friend and how the only reason nothing has ever happened between them is because they’re both too lazy to make the first move. “I never knew that.”

“You should come by our room later,” Nikaido suggests deviously. “Fuck with him a bit.”

Ohkura grins. “All right.” Though he probably won’t be stopping at ‘a bit’.

He makes the mistake of telling the other Eito members about this brand new information and sincerely hopes that they won’t suddenly become the band of redheaded stepchildren. Hina especially has a little too much fun riling Ohkura up, because that cocktease can go right to his woman after work while Ohkura’s left with torturing his good friend to the point of actually making effort. Challenge accepted.

“‘Sup skate kids,” he greets the seven members of Kisumai who are loitering around their meeting room, apparently on a break.

“Ohkura-kun!” Fujigaya says first, his face lighting up in true senpai-whore mode. “I love your hair!”

“Thanks,” Ohkura says, flashing a smirk that makes Fujigaya’s cheeks tint pink. He greets the other members, shares a conspiratorial nod with Nikaido and Miyata, and finally rests his gaze on his target—who is unsurprisingly asleep on the couch. “Hiromitsu, wake up.”

“Don’t wanna,” Kitayama mumbles, batting at the air like someone was actually close enough to touch him.

“So rude,” Fujigaya tsks.

Ohkura’s no stranger to sleeping Kitayamas, particularly when he wants their attention, so he steps right up to the couch and leans down, taking a few seconds to appreciate Kitayama’s cute sleeping face before blowing air right into his ear. He gets out of the way just in time, before Kitayama flails himself awake with both arms and legs, nearly ending up on the floor as he clutches his ear and gasps for air.

“What the actual _fuck_?” he growls, all narrowed eyes and glaring until he looks up at Ohkura. “Oh.”

“Hi,” Ohkura says brightly, waving a little.

Kitayama stares at him, specifically the bangs falling into his eyes. “Hi.”

“Wanna come over tonight?”

A nod.

“Bring food,” Ohkura tells him, then stands tall and faces the half-amused, half-traumatized remaining members. “I’ll leave him to you.”

He struts all the way back to Eito’s room, where he halfway pays attention as Yoko goes over their holiday appearances. To say he’s distracted would be an understatement; not that he’s never considered being this kind of friends with Kitayama, but now that it’s basically on the schedule he can’t think about anything else. Kitayama’s much shorter than him, but they can make it work.

Well, Kitayama can make it work. Ohkura doesn’t plan on doing anything at all.

*

Ohkura’s lounging on his couch when Kitayama lets himself in with his spare key, balancing bags of takeout while he shrugs off his coat and steps out of his boots. Ohkura watches him bemusedly, noticing how he fills out his jeans from all angles, and the way he’s wearing his hair these days is quite flattering.

“I didn’t know what you wanted, so I guessed,” Kitayama says as he sets a box in front of Ohkura and sits right on his legs. Ohkura grumbles and kicks at him, but for such a small guy he has a lot of weight.

“I’ll take whatever you give me,” Ohkura replies, fully aware of the double entendre, and Kitayama chokes a little as he shovels food into his mouth. It’s then that Ohkura realizes the extent of Kitayama’s fetish with his hair—he has never seen the other man eat so fast in his life. That’s practically a sin to them.

Ohkura, however, takes his sweet time eating, pretending like he’s interested in whatever’s on TV while Kitayama nearly implodes next to him. Ohkura can see him out of his peripheral vision and it’s surreal to see him so anxious, with what seems like a week’s worth of energy bottled up inside him, begging for release.

“So,” Ohkura says after his last bite, making a point to put his takeout container far out of the way. “What do you want to do?”

He should have expected it, but he still gasps in surprise as he’s pinned to the couch, a firm body weighing him down and warm lips pressing against his while two hands sift through his hair. It’s almost too much at once, leaving Ohkura incapable of anything except sliding his arms around Kitayama’s waist as he’s ravished on his own couch. He can’t even kiss back right away, though Kitayama helps him out by licking his way into his mouth and coaxing out his tongue.

Ohkura thinks about making fun of him for being so easy, but then Kitayama’s rocking sharply against him and this soft moan sounds from the back of Kitayama’s throat. It goes right between Ohkura’s legs, which spread a little to let Kitayama press closer to him, and now he’s offering his own noises as Kitayama grinds his cock to full hardness through his pants.

“Tada-kun,” Kitayama whispers, his voice lower than normal, but not as low as the groan he emits when Ohkura’s hands drop to squeeze his ass. “Why haven’t we done this before?”

“It took me getting my hair dyed red for you to jump me,” Ohkura answers, taking the opportunity to catch his breath. “I take it you like it?”

Kitayama’s response is a borderline growl that vibrates Ohkura’s entire body, leading Ohkura to actively lean up and resume their kissing. That’s all he effort he has to make, though, because Kitayama’s all over him, pressing against him while that feels like eight hands pull at his clothes as well as his hair. Ohkura would have never pegged Kitayama as so aggressive in bed, but perhaps he just needs the right motivation.

“You want to do this here?” Kitayama whispers against his lips, and Ohkura groans as he lowers his hands to Kitayama’s thighs, which straddle him pointedly.

“I don’t want to move,” Ohkura replies. “I should have something under the couch cushions.”

Kitayama scoffs as he reaches underneath them. “Only you.”

Ohkura thinks about correcting him—he knows for a fact that he’s not the only one who keeps an emergency stash in the couch (and the kitchen, and the car, and within arm’s reach of the bathtub)—but then Kitayama’s snapping his hips and all Ohkura can think of is being inside him, feeling that ass all around him, bouncing up and down on him. After rummaging for so long that Ohkura gets impatient and nips at Kitayama’s neck, Kitayama finally finds the travel-size tube and foil packet, stuffing them behind the couch pillow under Ohkura’s head while he shucks off his clothes.

“You gonna make me do this, too?” Kitayama asks, and Ohkura’s breath hitches as he tightens his hands on Kitayama’s now bare thighs.

“Since you’re offering,” Ohkura replies, hissing when Kitayama shifts on top of him and their cocks bump. “You’re so fucking hot when you’re going after something you want.”

Kitayama pauses to smirk down at him. “Yeah?”

“Mm-hmm.” Ohkura watches as Kitayama lubes three of his fingers and slips them between his legs. He gasps at the first touch and instantly he’s back in Ohkura’s mouth, kissing him even harder and Ohkura gives it back just as much, even more turned on with the sharp jerks and moans Kitayama makes as he stretches himself. He wants it so badly that he’s the one who retrieves the condom from under the pillow and rolls it on, groaning at the friction that’s eased with a few good strokes of lube.

“Don’t finish without me,” Kitayama teases, this voice deep against Ohkura’s lips and Ohkura has to lower his hand before he gets carried away.

“Don’t take so fucking long,” he shoots back, and Kitayama’s body rocks faster from the force. It pulls faint whines from his throat that Ohkura wants to drink up, blood racing from the anticipation that heightens each time Kitayama shudders on top of him.

“Almost,” Kitayama gasps, sounding apologetic, and all Ohkura can do is grab onto both cheeks of Kitayama’s ass, spreading him open a little more and urging him further down onto his own fingers. Kitayama’s noises get louder and he falls from Ohkura’s mouth, arching enough for Ohkura to see his face, and it’s a credit to how worked up Ohkura is that he’s actually considering rolling them right off the couch and taking him on the floor. Just considering, though.

Luckily Kitayama’s just as impatient as Ohkura and he sits up, pulling his fingers from his body in time to sink down onto Ohkura’s cock, which Ohkura helpfully holds up for him. They both groan as it goes in, tight muscles clenching around Ohkura who barely stops himself from thrusting right into him. He struggles to focus through his hazy vision to see Kitayama with his hair in his face, skin flushed and lips plump as he takes Ohkura all the way in, smiling when he sees Ohkura watching him.

“You look really good with that hair color,” Kitayama says.

“I couldn’t tell,” Ohkura teases, and Kitayama gets him back with a sharp snap of his hips. “Oh.”

“You can at least push up a little,” Kitayama mutters, and the only reason Ohkura does it is because he’s been trying _not_ to do it this whole time. “Make me bounce, Tada-kun.”

“Fuck,” Ohkura breathes, his nerves crawling with pressure as he easily finds Kitayama’s rhythm and matches it. He knows it’s doing it right when Kitayama cries out, sitting all the way up to feel Ohkura right where he wants him, and Ohkura’s knuckles turn white from the firm grip he has on Kitayama’s thighs. “Hiromitsu.”

“Mm, right there,” Kitayama mumbles, his head falling back from the force of his arch, and Ohkura holds him steady while he pounds up into him from that angle. “More, Tada-kun.”

“Get it yourself,” Ohkura replies, his abdomen already starting to hurt from the workout it’s getting, and Kitayama flashes a smirk before he rides Ohkura full force. “Fuck, _fuck_.”

“You asked for it,” Kitayama says in this raspy voice that has Ohkura clutching onto Kitayama for a different reason. He can barely hold on, his cock engulfed in that tight heat over and over again. Kitayama’s thighs flex with each bounce, and he brings his hands down to cover Ohkura’s in what Ohkura mistakenly thinks is a brief flash of intimacy until he notices one being guided further between his legs.

Ohkura makes a whining noise, but then he feels Kitayama twitch in his hand and it’s instantly emulated around his own length. Kitayama’s hand doesn’t leave, both of them pulling him off as his noises get louder and Ohkura starts to lose his breath. “Hiromitsu.”

Suddenly Kitayama gets incredibly tighter, making it increasingly difficult for Ohkura to move inside him at all, and Ohkura can’t stop his orgasm from surging through him, tearing a loud groan from his lungs. Kitayama falls forward instantly, fusing his mouth to Ohkura’s stretched-out neck as he strokes himself faster with Ohkura’s hand, and he presses a deep moan of Ohkura’s first name into Ohkura’s throat as he pulses and comes over both of their fingers.

Kitayama is heavy as fuck, but Ohkura can’t muster enough energy to tell him to move, let alone shove at him himself. He’s doing well to breathe, shallow gasps for air as his body recovers from what feels like an explosion. “Man, I’ll keep my hair like this if it actually gets you to do something.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Kitayama mumbles, predictably dozing off. “The novelty wears off after awhile.”

Shaky fingers thread through his damp hair, and Ohkura grins. He’ll see about that.


End file.
